


some invitation of light

by lucyjaggat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, tape recorders as manifestations of sublimated desire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 11:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyjaggat/pseuds/lucyjaggat
Summary: It was the third time the tape recorder showed up on a first date that Martin lost his cool."I've--er---I've got to go," he stuttered, and threw some notes on the table. It was time to have a talk with Jon.





	some invitation of light

**Author's Note:**

> this grew from a 100 word prompt for "matchmaking"

It was sometime after Prentiss and Leitner that Martin decided it was time for what he titled New Martin. Things had changed at the archives, and it was time for him to change, too. No more lonely and scared Martin. Time for a more confident, happier Martin to emerge. To this end, he created a list in a specially-purchased moleskine notebook. It was a whole program: he was going to start going to the gym, maybe eat some more salads, and most importantly, try to get a handle on this whole thing about Jon. 

He knew Jon wasn’t perfect: that was kind of the whole problem. Jonathan Sims was this complex tangle of loyalties and ambitions that drew Martin in and made him want to puzzle him out. They’d worked together for years now, and he still only knew things about Jon that he had learned by complete accident. It wasn’t like they were very close, after all. After Jurgen Leitner, Jon, always a bit high-strung in Martin’s view (and he knew high-strung), had become increasingly paranoid and suspicious. The circles under his eyes darkened. He grew thinner. He was acerbic as usual but this time it had a real edge. Even when he went on short excursions with Martin, like grabbing a sandwich, he spoke little and mostly just watched as if waiting for some hint of treachery.

Martin was at a bit of a loss about what to do. No offering of devotion or profession of loyalty was perceived as such by Jon, who seemed determined to take all such olive branches as personal attacks or manipulative endeavors. It hurt everyone, but Martin seemed to take it the hardest, due to the whole massive irrepressible longing and all that. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like even Jon’s worst behavior could dislodge him from where he’d dug underneath Martin’s skin, and so there was nothing for it but some attempts at poetry and, after a few too many one night, dating apps. 

It was on the first date post-installation of Tinder that Martin noticed the tape recorder. Okay, to be sure, it was possible that they had manifested before and he simply hadn't noticed. It was becoming a bit of an occupational hazard. But as he ate ravioli and tried to make eye contact while his date droned on about due diligence and compliance analysis, he was surprised by a very distinctive click, followed by a whirring noise that was eminently familiar. 

Oh, shit. 

He couldn't think what to do. As poorly as the date seemed to be going, he didn't want it to end in some sort of legal accusation. He had visions of some sort of police inquiry as to why he was recording people and his picture in the Daily Mail. So he thought as fast as he could, which resulted in him knocking over his wineglass. As his date dove to rescue his briefcase (presumably full of the same documents he had been discussing at length) from the spillage, Martin stood up and grabbed the tape recorder, making sure to scowl at it in case someone was watching, either in the Institute or just around their table. Luckily, his date didn’t seem to notice, just complained about how difficult it was to remove red wine stains from suits. Martin promised to pay for its laundering, and figured it was probably a small price to pay to not look like a complete creep. 

The date ended shortly after, Martin’s valiant attempts to keep the conversation going notwithstanding. As he walked home, feeling both relieved and dejected, he fumed about the tape recorder. 

How was he supposed to try to move on, have a normal life, if the Institute kept getting in the way? 

Not for the first time, he considered quitting, but knew it to be impossible. Just like everyone else, he was caught in its web, and unlike its usual prey, didn’t really have the will to leave. 

He really, really hoped the tape recorder wouldn’t show up again though, like if he was eating breakfast or in the loo or something. Or in even more awkward moments, like those times he dreamed about Jon—well, best not to really think about that at all, seriously. Especially now. At least this was probably a lone occurrence, and wouldn’t come up again. Really, who would want to Behold an awkward first date? Martin didn’t even want to, and he was one of the participants. 

He stalked home and tried to forget the whole thing. 

***

The tape recorder showed up again.

This time, Martin was on a date with an aspiring solicitor, who kept mentioning his admittedly-impressive course marks. When Martin mumbled about his master’s degree in parapsychology, the solicitor snorted and kept talking about himself. Martin tried not to feel too offended, since after all, his degree was fake, but some loyalty to his invented CV made him not want to listen to the other man much longer. 

He cast about for a distraction, some way to change the subject away from the interminable school conversation. And caught sight of the tape recorder, gently whirring on a counter-top near their booth. 

This time, it was behind his date’s field of vision, instead of sitting on the table in front of them, but it made him annoyed all the same. Was nothing sacred? Couldn’t an archival assistant do his level best to get over his terrible, all-encompassing feelings for his boss in peace? He imagined Elias and Jon listening to his fumbling attempts at small talk and snarking about it, heads bent together as they laughed at his foibles. He didn’t get angry very often, but this was setting up to be one of those rare occasions. 

Mercifully, his date seemed to finally notice how distracted he was and made his excuses. They parted soon after with nothing more than a brief handshake and a muttered aside about seeing each other around sometime. They both knew they wouldn’t, but Martin was starting to learn that the polite fiction that you would was an important part of the dating process. 

He put his earbuds in as he walked away. Some of the less important statements Jon had recorded in digital form and were able to be uploaded to various devices. Martin told himself he was listening to them to get in touch with his work, really learn to anticipate Jon’s needs as an employer, promoting synergy and all that in the workplace. It was mainly that he just wanted to hear Jon’s dry laugh, which he never got to hear naturally. This was all perfectly normal, by the way. Just a normal archival assistant listening to some normal recordings from his normal boss about some decidedly normal events. 

***

It was the third time the tape recorder showed up on a first date that Martin lost his cool. 

"I've--er---I've got to go," he stuttered, and threw some notes on the table. It was time to have a talk with Jon. 

***

It was the weekend, and although technically on weekends nobody was supposed to be at the Institute beyond a skeleton crew of security staff and a few of the more abnormally-scheduled arcane researchers, the lights in the Archives were on. He knew Jon would be there even though he nominally rented a flat nearby to sleep in. Jon had been spending a lot more time in the archives lately, even more than before. Martin felt a little guilty about possibly waking him, if he was sleeping in there, but resolved himself to interrupt all the same. He stalked into the archives and mustered his courage.

“Martin!” 

Jon was as surprised as Martin had expected. He had his reading glasses on, and they were slipping down his nose a bit. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with statements and files strewn about in front of him. A crowd of tape recorders and cassettes circled around him as if listening to him or keeping him company. His wavy, gray-flecked hair was falling into his eyes and there was a pencil stuck behind his ear for safekeeping. An over-sized, slouchy jumper in some god-awful pattern enveloped him. Martin wanted to kiss him, but reminded himself that he was in a New Era, and New Martin was trying to get over Jon. New Martin didn’t mistake surprise for welcome or scorn for concern. New Martin had confidence and maybe really, really wanted to kiss Jon but bravely restrained his urges. 

“We need to talk,” Martin said firmly, and tossed the tape recorder at Jon, who missed it but recovered himself with some measure of grace. Martin tried to ignore the way the muscles in Jon’s forearms moved as he turned the recorder over in his hands, as if looking for some hint as to its origins. 

“W-what is this?” Jon asked, looking up at him. It didn’t have the compulsion in it for once, for which Martin was thankful. The rushing in his ears was entirely his own for once, a nervous pounding of his heart and not that strange current that charged the air sometimes when Jon spoke. 

“You tell me!” Martin burst out, feeling suddenly uneasy at how little Jon seemed to know about what was going on. Was it possible he had no idea about what the tape recorders were doing? How they were following him on dates?

Jon hit play, and they sat there in silence as the tape clicked into life. Martin cringed to hear his stumbled introduction, his caginess about his career, his lies about his CV. Jon listened with no sign of laughter or scorn, which was some relief. After a few minutes of silently listening to forks clinking and background noise and restrained chatter, Jon hit pause. 

“What is this?” 

“Don’t you know?” Martin asked, now genuinely curious despite himself. 

“No, it- it sounds like you on a… on a date? I don’t understand wh-why you’ve brought this to me.” Jon’s brows were furrowed and a tiny smirk played at the edges of his lips now. 

“It came to me!” Martin yelled. “Every time I go on a date, the damned things show up and record me! Are-- are you listening to them? Did you send them? Why?” He felt his fists clench without his intent. 

“Wait,” Jon said. “Start from the beginning.” 

Martin sighed. 

“I’ve been going on—on dates, lately. To work on myself. And er. Yeah. So each time I’ve been on one, the tape recorder shows up and starts recording. And I-I’d really like it to stop. And I thought you might know about it. But I guess not?” he felt his voice rising in pitch at the end and swallowed the rest down. 

Jon stared at him blankly. His clear dark eyes looked up at Martin in complete confusion. 

“I haven’t been sending them,” he said. 

“Oh.” Martin felt like an idiot. It was probably just some weird Beholding thing, the Eye keeping an, well, eye on its servants. Probably nothing to do with the Archivist. Or Jon. Or Jon’s role as the Archivist. Nothing like that. Totally innocent. Or at least, unrelated to him. Except it was only when he went on dates, so it probably had something to do with him. Or feelings. 

Jon was still staring at him. 

“You’re---” he cleared his throat suddenly and Martin jumped a bit. “You’ve been, ah, dating?” 

“If you must know, yes!” Since when did Jon care? This was probably almost the longest they’d ever spoken without Jon berating him for some misstep or other. “I have to get over you somehow, and- and Tinder seemed like an appropriate avenue!”

Jon’s mouth fell open. He appeared to mouth the word “Tinder” to himself. He looked dazed. 

“Get over me?” he said quietly. “Well, yes, I suppose that’s...that’s for the best.” He looked back down at the statements scattered around. Martin was still standing, frozen in horror. 

Several years and this was how it came out. One outburst and he had permanently broken the fragile equilibrium he had constructed around his feelings for Jon. He’d been telling himself for years that he was okay, that he could wake up in the morning and go to work and love Jon and come home and it never really mattered if Jon ever felt the same or even knew, because loving him was the important bit. It really was. There was nothing served by him ever finding out. He’d made it abundantly clear even when they were both researchers that he had nothing but contempt for Martin and his work, and that didn’t harbor any hopes for his future competence either. Several years of waiting and wishing, dreaming in the night and sighing in the morning, and Martin had blurted it out. 

And Jon had just dismissed it. As callously and thoughtlessly as Martin had always suspected he would, when he dared to imagine baring his soul to him. He couldn’t get the words out. It felt like his mouth was frozen. His jaw worked furiously and he felt tears sting his eyes. No, he wasn’t going to cry in front of Jon. That was not going to happen. He forced himself to say something, counted to three, and made it come out. 

“Ah. Okay.” 

Alright, so it wasn’t exactly eloquent, but probably the worst thing Martin could imagine, out of all the worst things he could imagine (and working there made him quite good at it) had just happened so really it was quite a valiant effort. 

Jon looked back up then, distractedly. He seemed to realize something was wrong and his mouth opened, but Martin was already turning away and leaving.

“Wait-just-Martin!” he heard Jon call after him. It was the first time Jon had called for him where he didn’t immediately come running. 

Instead he went home. Collapsed into bed in his lonely flat in Stockwell where he was still undoing the modifications he had made over the two weeks trapped there. The loneliness of his flat had never seemed quite so enveloping until tonight-- it seemed that no light was penetrating at all. 

Well, big deal. Who needed light at night anyway? He mechanically took off his clothes and brushed his teeth. He felt as though he was sleep-walking. Finally, he fell asleep and mercifully, he didn’t dream. 

***

When he woke, there was a tape recorder on the bedside table, whirring quietly as if it were a sleeping pet. Martin almost wanted to pat it, but the previous night’s events came back to him in a rush and he almost jerked out of bed in dismay. 

How could he show up to work like this? What if Jon put in some, some sort of complaint to Elias? He understood that there was some ancient magic or bit of arcane mystery that kept them from leaving the Institute, but he really didn’t want to find out if there was some kind of supernatural pink slip for disputatious employees who everyone really wanted to be well rid of. 

He decided to skive off of work. If Jon was right about his work, it wasn’t like they really needed him. Besides, this was a prime opportunity to clear his head. With this in mind, he got dressed and headed to a nearby park. 

It was a lovely day outside, the bright, clear sunlight and birds wheeling overhead creating an ambiance of cheer that was utterly at odds with his mood. It was a welcome change from the gloomy interiors and low ceilings of the archives. He smiled magnanimously at the kids playing and made his way to a bench. Perhaps this was a chance for New Martin to reflect, to try and re-orient himself. There was something almost cathartic in having the worst happen: he told himself it meant he had only the best to look forward to. So what if Jon had dismissed his feelings? He’d always known this would happen. It was best for the plaster to be ripped off and for his wounds to heal. Or whatever the metaphor was.

He leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head, trying to soak in the sunlight. When was the last time it had been like this outside? He couldn’t remember a day that wasn’t grey and dreary, the atmosphere pressing close and creating a dull ache in the back of his head. The sunlight warmed his face, and he sighed in pleasure. Until a shadow fell across him, and shading his eyes, he looked up to see Jon.

“May I sit?” Jon said, and gestured unnecessarily at the empty space next to Martin on the bench.

He looked terrible. More disheveled than he had been lately, which was saying something. Martin tried not to notice how his shirtsleeves were rolled up haphazardly over his forearms and how one of his shoes had its laces untied. There was a pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket, and he fumbled for one, lighting it with a lighter that had a strange web pattern on it as he waited for Martin to answer.

“Sure,” Martin said grudgingly. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less than sit through a heart to heart with Jonathan Sims, especially one on this subject. But it seemed that was going to happen regardless, so he jerked his head toward the seat next to him and settled back, folding his arms defensively. Mostly so Jon couldn’t see how his hands were shaking. 

Jon, smoking, sat down. He took a pensive drag and stared at a strange bit of shrubbery nearby as if it held some distant fascination for him. Finally, he took the cigarette and crushed it under his foot. 

“Don’t litter,” Martin said automatically. Jon ignored him. 

“Martin,” he began, “I’ve been an arse.”

“No argument here,” Martin sniffed, refusing to look directly at him. 

“I want to apologize,” Jon continued. “I’ve been—aware-- of how you feel and I haven’t treated you very well. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Martin felt those traitorous tears pricking his eyes again. 

“Can’t you just leave me alone, then?” he gritted out, and turned in his distress towards Jon. 

There was a tape recorder sitting between them on the bench. Martin jumped up.

“Did—did you seriously bring that? Are you joking? What---what the hell?”

“What?” Jon asked. He looked down. “Oh. No, they’ve been following me. I think I’ve figured it out, though.”

“That’s nice,” said Martin nastily. 

“Will you please sit down? I have more I want to say to you.” Martin couldn’t resist, even after last night. He sat and looked Jon straight in the eyes. Jon was looking at him with a gentleness he was unaccustomed to. His lashes curled becomingly around his wide, dark eyes as he stared intently at Martin, who flushed. 

“I think I know why the tapes have been following you.”

“Well?”

Jon shifted uneasily. He ground the cigarette into the soil a bit further and scuffed his feet back and forth. Finally, he sighed in resignation. 

“Would you believe me if I said they were jealous?” 

The world seemed to fall out from under Martin’s feet. His stomach dropped. His heart soared. There was a tiny, fragile hope beating somewhere inside his ribs in place of a heartbeat. 

“They—but--you didn’t know about the dates until I told you,” he managed finally, tongue thick with anxious desperation.

Jon sighed again and ran his hands through his hair, messing it up even worse than it had been. 

“One of the more—the more frustrating things about becoming Head Archivist is that I sometimes don’t know, you know...how I know things. A-and I know that sounds utterly stupid, but what I mean is there are things that I know, you know...and then, there are other—other things, that I don’t know, but that I know.”

Martin nodded faithfully, though it still didn’t make sense.

“Ah, I’m making a hash of this,” Jon said wildly. “The tape recorders knew before me, you see? I didn’t know, until I knew. I knew before I knew.” He snarled a bit in frustration. 

“Okay, let me try again.” Jon pulled a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket suddenly. 

“So this cigarette, okay, it’s like, the Beholding and the Archivist job and all that, like, okay? A-and this,” Jon said, pulling out the lighter again, “is, is me. There’s the Beholding, yeah, and it exists on its own time. And the lighter, which is, er, me, is activated. I flick on when there’s the knowledge, yeah? Even if it’s about me. On second thought, maybe I’m the cigarette, and the light is the knowledge. I’m the purpose of the light, and it—it’s activated, through me. Does this make sense?” he asked, helplessly. 

“A bit,” Martin lied. 

“Okay, I had kind of hoped to avoid this, but I guess it’s time to just….dispense with the metaphors. The tape recorders are jealous, because I was jealous. Am jealous,” Jon amended. 

“Of….of me?” Martin asked dumbly, his heart swelling again. 

“No,” Jon said slowly. “Of your dates. Of, of the guys going on dates with you. I was jealous of them.”

Martin almost fainted, but managed to take a deep breath. Then another. And another. 

“Why now?” he managed. Jon’s face creased as he appeared to briefly lose himself in thought. 

“I don’t know, exactly,” he said. “I heard the tape and I just...I very much wanted it to be me at the table with you.”

“Then why did you say it was for the best?” Martin demanded. He was starting to feel angry again. 

“I...don’t know,” Jon said. 

“You know, sometimes you can be very stupid!” Martin said, voice rising. “It’s—it’s been years for me, and—and you’ve treated me very poorly, by the way, and just when I try to get over it, you show up and set it all awry again!” 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said miserably. “I want to make it right. I hadn’t paid much attention before, until—until now, and now I am, and I think it might be too late but I had to say something, I-I had to try to fix things. When you didn’t show up today, I worried things might be beyond repair.”

“They’re not, Jon,” Martin said. “And...to tell you the truth, the dates were dead boring.”

“Is that so?” Jon asked, and Martin saw that tiny smile he loved, the one that played at the edges of Jon’s lips when he was trying not to laugh. Something unduly restrained and a bit sad for it, but there all the same, just like Jon. He laughed in response, and if it was a bit watery, Jon pretended not to notice. 

Jon turned toward him, face suddenly serious. 

“I really am sorry, Martin,” he said. “I know it doesn’t undo years of being an arse, but I know now about things and I want to be better.”

A thought suddenly struck him and he recoiled in horror. 

“Did Elias put you up to this?” That was the worst-case scenario he could imagine.

Jon laughed, and it was a lovely, rich sound. 

“No, Martin. This is all me. Well, me and the, the tapes, I suppose. Look, you don’t have to say yes, of course, but would you like to grab something to eat with me? Sandwich, perhaps?”

Martin, still dazed, nodded. Jon reached out and grabbed the edge of his jumper.

“I mean it,” he said seriously. “I want to earn your trust again, Martin. I want to start over.”

“Okay,” Martin nodded again, still feeling a bit light-headed. 

Jon chucked the tape recorder in the bin as they left the park and headed toward a place Martin had always idly fantasized about introducing Jon to. Martin decided that New Martin could stuff it.


End file.
